


Mirkwood: The Beginning of Broken Hearts

by Alku04



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Battle, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Loss, War, emotional angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-04 11:56:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5333243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alku04/pseuds/Alku04
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>:Oneshot: A quick story of what happened to the Queen of Mirkwood and how Thranduil had to relay the news to his son. Based off of the movie versions of LOTR and the Hobbit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mirkwood: The Beginning of Broken Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! So I was watching The Hobbit: Battle of Five Armies since the extended edition came out last week and I finally got it. I got this idea when Legolas was telling Tauriel about his mother's death and how she had died in Gundabad. This is a oneshot that was inspired by that scene.
> 
> Since we do not know anything about the Mrikwood Queen, this is what I have assumed… Since Legolas hinted that she died in a war, I believe her to be a warrior and since she is a Queen, she would be a leader. I know it would be a little unlikely that the Queen AND King would ride to war, but I did not want to go the Celebran rout and simply cause the queen to be captured unaware and tortured.
> 
> I do not know much on Middle Earth's history, so this might be AU to both the movie and books or even inaccurate, but just know, I wrote this for entertainment and if there are mistakes please don't flame me for that.
> 
> Also, I tried to rate this appropriately, but It might be a bit heavy as I was writing this while watching a documentary about the aftermath of the American Civil War… it was pretty gory and depressing, this story might mimic that.
> 
> Just like everyone else on this site, I do not own any Tolken characters, themes, or places.
> 
> Also, a HUGE thank you goes out to LadyLindariel for the title!
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Mirkwood.

It was a simple name for such a large forest and right now it was living up to every meaning of the new name. The dense canopy that once belonged to Greenwood the Great's forest blocked a majority of the mid-day light, leaving the woods in an eerie, murky twilight that was becoming permanent to much of the ancient forest. A damp fog had settled over the forest floor and it only pulled further upon the heavy hearts of the battle weary soldiers who were walking through the forests in silence.

The large group of elven warriors that were traveling northward, marched with doleful steps while they bore their dead and wounded as fast as they could go. The many war banners that were carried out only a few days prior, were now returning tattered and few, and the confidence that the Silvan soldiers had left with seemed to be shattered. The battle they were returning from was only a mild success in terms of accomplishments, but to each elf, it was considered a disaster. They managed to take out a major dent in the orc armies they sought to destroy, but the evil was not eradicated and many elven lives were lost, including a beloved soul, the warrior elven queen.

At the head of the marching line, Thranduil rarely spoke and rode his mighty elk steed as he lead his people back to the realm in misery. The once proud, regal elf looked no more confident than his men as a chilling expression of confusion and loss took over his bloodied face. The king was in a daze of thoughts and memories, trying to sort out what had gone wrong and how he had come to lose his wife.

Tired of the growing threat of evil and danger in their fair woods, the elven royals of Greenwood the Great decided to take action against the mounting activity at Gundabad in hopes of destroying the evil once and for all. It was no simple undertaking and every elf within the ranks of the armies knew it, but if they had any hopes of freeing their woods of the darkening shadows and ridding the magnificent forests of its new name 'Mirkwood', they needed to take action.

The mass of elves that marched out a nearly a week ago was divided into two sections as a plan was devised to stretch the orc forces over two fronts rather than one. The queen was to lead one group of warriors to the western gates of the defense wall and act as a diversion, letting the orcs underestimate the queen's strong fighting spirit as she initiated the battle. The king agreed to lead a sneak attack from the northern side and overwhelm the orcs to find a victory. With the armies of Gundabad fighting two elven forces, their focus could not be directed on any one area and the effort to fight in multiple places at once could provide a breaking point with the evil armies.

The companies stuck to the agreed plan that the royals had strategized over the previous days and the early stages of battle went just as the elves had hoped for. The orcs fell for the trick of a weak female warrior leading her troops and they soon found themselves facing a ferocious foe who showed no mercy.

The king and his troops attacked some time later to gain the most out of the surprise attack and delivered a terrorizing assault upon the orcs. While the battle was far from over, it was becoming clear that the elves had the upper hand.

Realizing that they needed more forces to take out the elves, the orcs raised a bone chilling alarm with a crude horn. In three short bursts of sound, the horn blasts called upon more troops to the walls, and the armies that came forth was nothing short of massive.

The elves did not back down however and the queen ordered for her troops to put their all into battle. Each elf fell the wretched creatures as fast as they could, but the sheer numbers of orcs were quickly overpowering them and the queen's platoons became divided.

The queen was shouting orders at the top of her lungs. Her fair voice was dripping in determination and courage, trying to regroup and fight back. But soon her commands were heard no more and her warriors lost sight of their queen as they became further split apart. The elves fought to destroy the orcs around them, but more foul creatures appeared as they were being slayed, creating a seemingly endless mass of monstrous bodies that kept advancing. The elves were becoming overwhelmed and needed to re-think their tactics, but they were now leaderless as they could not locate their monarch.

A commanding officer did as he should, and took on the authoritative role to begin giving his people orders to retreat, which the elves did so with gusto. As the depleting warriors withdrew their forces and gave up their ground, the winning evil put on a display to assert their strength and crack the elves' confidence.

Above the sea of vile orcs, a lone elf was hoisted into the air by its neck as a massive creature towered over the heads of the rest. The thick clawed hand was viciously wrapped around the queen's throat, rendering the fair being speechless. Despite being strangled, she fought desperately to get free; Punches fell short of the intended target and kicks to the monster's belly went noticed. The clawed iron grip was too strong to pry away and escape would not come. It was a chilling scene that stole the breath of every elf and they watched helplessly as the captured queen was being used as leverage against her own people.

Every elf tensed up and their fighting abated, scared that if they made the wrong move, it would be the end of their cherished leader. The gruesome captor looked back to the elven troops with a wicked smile over his twisted face and he hefted the queen up a little higher above their heads.

The elves were meant to watch this.

The evil creature's roaring voice bellowed over the battle noises and though the elves did not speak the black language, they understood what was being said; It was a dark warning that the evil would not be easily destroyed. At the last word, the rest of the orcs added their own grunts and growls as the baneful troops rallied in anticipation.

To some elves, it happened too fast and they could not comprehend what they had seen. Others would declare it happened painfully slow and the image of what had happened would be seared into their nightmares for an eternity.

A corrupt orcish blade was raised into the air and was swung about a few times, taunting the elves and toying with their angst before the rusted blade was thrust into the queen's chest where it was twisted to stop her heart forever.

The horrified shock seemed to ripple across the land and the warriors could not get themselves to move as the traumatized sorrow turned their limbs to stone. It felt as though an eternity passed as they stood there in disbelief trying to comprehend what they had just witnessed.

Then, a piercing, anguished cry arose in a frenzied grief as the commanding officer let his heart drive his body into action. He rushed forward with his long elven sword clutched tightly in hand while he advanced without any heed to the dangers before him. His blade seemed to sing a sad melody as the sharpened steel cut through the air and delivered fatal blows to every orc in sight. He did not care if he were to die, it was a fate he would gladly share with their queen and he rushed forward in his own last stand.

Suddenly, the hatred each elf had for the loathsome orcs boiled over and they followed their officer without any command. They rushed the front of orcs that had no end and began to hack away to take out as many evil beings as they could before they too were sent to Mandos' Halls.

Both elf and orc were falling at an alarming rate as the woodland warriors fought frantically to reach their queen. Their hearts were torn as they wanted to hold onto hope that they could save their brave lady, but the hope was fading only to be replaced by the truth. Deep down they knew it was too late to save their queen and the tears in their eyes left them nearly blind and their sorrow began to hinder their skills.

The black mass of evil advanced in a mighty wave as the lifeless body of the bloodied queen was tossed carelessly behind the defense walls, laying claim to the elven monarch and stealing a precious treasure of the Woodland Realm. The queen was now theirs, lifeless or not, and within time, the orc leaders were sure Mirkwood would come to that same fate.

The dwindling elves dare not give up any ground until the faint sound of an elven horn broke through the clattering of swords. Somewhere in the distance, the king was recalling his forces and signaled for the queen to do the same. The officer shouted to his men to fall back and reluctantly, they gave up the fight. There was just too many foes before them and reaching the queen was just not possible. With broken hearts and whispered words of regretful sorrow, they left her body, but prayed her spirit would be able to walk away free.

The orcs laughed as they watched the shambled warriors turn on their heels and leave. They did not pursue the retreating elves, for they knew the one they had brutally slaughtered was the queen. This death would only weaken the elves and the dark orcs knew it. They let the remaining elves leave so they could spread the news about the death of their queen. In time, the orcs would unleash their own battles against the elves in their realm of wooded territory in the hopes of overtaking the Silvan elves and spreading the evil that lived deep inside each spawn of Mordor.

Some miles away, the king found a relatively safe place to regroup. In a glade surrounded by trees, an unusual chaos had worked itself over the Silvan warriors. Thranduil was shouting orders to his men to care for the wounded and make further arrangements to evacuate. His army had gained success by driving the evil back behind the far defense wall and annihilating the troops he faced. Whether his men were better prepared than the queen's, or the orcs they faced were less skilled, would never be known. As the king watched the other half of the warriors meet up with him, he could tell instantly that something was not right as there were very few warriors to return.

Healers had swarmed Thranduil as he had obtained many serious wounds and they did all they could for the king as he moved about giving his orders. Gashes in his arms were bound tightly with bandages and a deep cut to his cheek was wiped clean and smothered with a healing paste. The king was walking with a limp and it was only then that he noticed his thigh was bleeding freely from a puncture wound, no doubt made from an arrow that had struck him, then somehow had been pulled free. The adrenaline in the king acted as a major barrier against the pain and as the whirlwind of energy began to die, so did the stress hormone. Those around Thranduil urged the king to take a seat so he could properly be tended to, but the stubbornness the king was known for could not be broken and he continued to bark his orders to get moving as fast as they could.

The orc-blood splattered king pushed his way through his pain to see all who returned, but when the last elf walked through the clearing he looked over the heads of troops to locate his queen.

He could not find her.

"M-my lord?" the queen's officer stammered and the king looked upon his ashen face to note the deep look of pained shock that perhaps could never be erased due to the horrors he had just witnessed.

The news was delivered to the king swiftly and Thranduil fell still and quiet as he listed intently to every word the sobbing warrior retold. The king was in a state of disbelief and his steely expression did not crack.

Until...

Thranduil could feel a searing pain in his throat as his anguish was unleashed in a strangled cry of rage and sorrow, but the king would never remember if he had cried out at the top of his lungs, or if the ice in his throat left him speechless as the flaxen haired king sank to his knees in the middle of the glen. His gory hands moved to cup his face and his crowned head fell forward as his grief pulled him down. It felt as though his very heart had been wrenched from his chest as the account was too much to bear and the force of his grief crushed his breath from his lungs, never giving him the air needed to cry. He sat in silence among his warriors in a crumpled heap, reeling from the news.

And that was all the king could recall.

He found that the woods were passing him by, but exactly how he had gotten there or where he was going was lost on the king and the elk that carried him walked of its own free will, determining to pace at which they marched as the animal felt the need to return home. Thranduil's straight posture did not yield as he rode upon his steed, but his composure was close to breaking as the silent march allowed his mind to wander. His thoughts were hard to make sense as the jumble of words, pictures, feeling and imagination assaulted his rationality. However, there was a vivid clarity to his rememberings that fueled the searing heart ache within. He fought against his grief that constantly tried to surface. He had no time to let it show through now as he had a job to do and his kingly duties had to come first. His people needed him and he had to keep himself together to lead his fractured troops back home, defeated and broken.

And this was now the second time that he had ridden to war with another at his side, yet he was the only one to return.

Orophir was gone.

Greenwood's Queen was dead.

And Thranduil was left to pick up the broken pieces of a deadly aftermath alone.

Fire was burning in Thranduil's eyes as bitter tears welled up and trickled down his face. He made no move to swipe them from his cheeks, for the motion would give away his woes and he had to be the strong force to keep his people together. Being at the head of the line was a lonely blessing as the only ones who saw his tears were the very trees that created his forests.

Deep inside, Thranduil was unsure if he could be that strong force this time. Life had no purpose to him as this latest death was far too close to his heart. It had been a miracle that he had pulled himself together thousands of years ago to take the throne and lead the Silvan elves after his father was cut down in war, but this...

This hurt too much.

A vacuum was created in the king's chest as he clenched his jaw while fighting against a quaking sob that wanted to rattle the elf.

How could any thing be right in the world anymore?

The king did not remember much more of the ride home, nor did he remember coming up to the magic gaits of the palace and commanding them to open with a monotone voice completely void of all emotion. He was quickly becoming just a shell of whom he was but there was something comforting in this feeling. A numbness had settled over the king and his mind, body and soul welcomed it as his troubles were pushed back due to a blank mind and were felt no more. It were as if the king felt dead inside.

He had no recollection of dismounting his loyal elk nor every painful step he took as he climbed the countless stairs in the kingdom in agony. He vaguely saw the blood soaked bandage about his leg that needed to be replaced, but the king looked past his own wound and pushed himself inside his halls.

 _**Let it bleed**_  he thought.

Once in the main wing of the palace halls, his advisers rushed him immediately. There was much to discuss and they needed to be filled in on the outcomes of the war. Their remarks and demands fell upon his deaf ears and Thranduil walked past them stiffly and uncertainty. The noble advisers noted the pale haunted look Thranduil wore and the gory appearance of their once flawless king. The way he simply walked away from everyone in a daze was unnerving to say the least and they watched the king pass them to make for his throne room out of habit. They backed away slightly in confusion to give the king space while exchanging worried glances.

Something had happened.

Whispered words were traveling fast through the palace of the Queen's death and the mad rush of activity ceased within the halls of the palace and the very air that was breathed seemed to be heavy and dismal. One by one, tearful sights locked on their limping, retreating king as doubt began to cloud their heads.

A rag-tag group of officers took the action that the king left behind and quietly ordered servants to create healing wards out of any available room. The wounded were being brought in by the hundreds and they had precious little time to waste as lives were on the line. Not a word was spoken as people got to work.

Thranduil was nearly at the doors to his halls when a light voice behind him cut through his awareness like a loosened arrow from a taut bow. The king was unsure if he had heard the timid voice and he halted his movement and stared blankly at his doors.

Then he heard it again.

" _Ada?_ " (Dad)

The king turned slowly on his heels to find the source of the plaintive voice that called out to him. Through the silent masses, a young elfling wove through the chaos to track him down. His pale yellow hair matched that upon Thranduil's head and the little one came to stand before his father.

Legolas.

The king almost cringed at the sight of his young son. The boy's cerulean eyes were huge in fright and he kept darting his sights about, catching glances of the grisly scenes produced by the outcome of battle that overflowed into his home. Even the hallways were becoming crowded with the wounded as the rooms were filling to capacity and the soldiers kept coming. He was too young to have witnessed this sight before as his tender age kept him sheltered from the atrocities of warfare. He was barely even half of his adulthood height and the elfling was not even old enough to have touched a weapon yet.

As the king turned to face his son, the little one pulled back in horror after he took in the bloody appearance of his father and he backpedaled a few paces. The child blinked his eyes and in a snap, they welled with terrified tears.

A swell of anguish built in Thranduil's chest and the king instantly dropped to a knee to bring the tall king to the child's level while ignoring the white hot flash of pain that was felt in his punctured thigh.

"What are you doing out here my child?" He asked but even as the words left his lips, he realized that the boy was probably seeking his parents out. Upon their normal returns from skirmishes, patrols, outings and hunts, Legolas' mother would always run to her son first thing as Thranduil had to make a rush to tended to diplomatic duty. But through the thick stone caves that created the elaborate kingdom that would forever be called Mirkwood, the bustle and the rush of disaster reached Legolas' ears first, and his mother never showed up.

The boy began to tremble and Thranduil forced his face to look softer as he held a hand out to his son, bidding him to come closer. With meek steps the boy came forward as a few silvery tears slipped down his cherubic cheek. His eyes scanned the wounds upon his father and his whispered words choked in dread.

"Y-you're hurt."

"It is of no matter." the king said as delicately as he could muster.

"Where is  _Nana_?" (Mom)

The question knocked the breath out of the king's lungs and his eyes began to crease in painful sorrow as he regarded his son.

"She-" The king's voice would not work. The youth looked pleadingly into his father's eyes and Thranduil had to look away.

How would he tell his son?

Thranduil brought his hand up to cup the child's cheek in his hand while his thumb ran across the smooth ivory skin to catch the boy's tears. Even as he attempted to dry his son's face, unbidden tears left Thranduil's eyes and in an instant, the king enfolded the youth in a desperate embrace.

There was not a dry eye in the palace as onlookers watched the scene before them and their hearts bled for their king and prince. This was not something they needed to watch, but they had to tended to business and did so while trying to keep their lords from sight.

Try as he might, the king could not suppress all the sobs that wanted to rob him of his dignity and he buried his face into the shoulder of his son's tunic. He stroked the back of his son's head in a soothing motion both for Legolas' comfort and his own.

"Oh, child..." Thranduil gasped. He could not do this. This would surely kill him, and he did not even have the heart to think about what this would do to his only child.

" _Ada?_ " Legolas did not know why, but he began to sob just as hard as his father. He could feel something was greatly amiss. His father did not speak for some time and the boy clung to his father in unknown fear. " _Ada?_ " his tiny whisper repeated.

Thranduil held his breath as he worked to control his emotions. He gently pulled away from the boy to look at him.

"She… your mother…" A rogue tear spilled down his face but he pushed forward. "She loved you Legolas, more than anything…. More than life itself. Know that, my child."

The boy nodded shakily and the king pulled his son back to him.

"But… where is she?" the little prince's voice broke as he talked through his uncertain sadness and the king let out a heavy sigh as he shook his head to himself.

"She… is not here anymore  _ion-nin._  She is not here, but she will always be with you, and will always love you." (my son)

"Where did she go?!" the elfling began to panic and buried his face into his father's shoulders and the king lifted his head in an attempt to cutoff the formation of tears. It was then that he saw the sorrow upon the faces of the elves that were watching them and the elven king scooped his sobbing son into his arms as he awkwardly stood to avoid the pain in his leg.. He could not do this in front of everyone and the king pulled back the massive doors of his throne room and let himself inside. The king quietly closed the doors behind him, seeking a silent place within the very center of his realm.

It was no longer Greenwood. The forests were now known by a new name that was simple for such a large forest and right now it was living up to every meaning of the new name.

Mirkwood.


End file.
